


Stepping Out

by theonlymoosewhoeatssalad



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dance, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, M/M, Roommates, ballet!altair, dancer!malik, famous!kadar
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-16
Updated: 2015-04-21
Packaged: 2018-03-18 03:35:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3554561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theonlymoosewhoeatssalad/pseuds/theonlymoosewhoeatssalad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Malik wanted to do in life was teach dance. With how many styles he can do, he gets a job pretty easily in New York City. With a famous brother, normal roommate and an arrogant ballerino, he has to find a way to make it in a city he's never been to. Not to mention that said ballerino is his roommate's cousin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been throwing this idea around in my head for a while now and I guess I got over excited about it because here is the first chapter of I have no idea how many more to come. 
> 
> The studio is based off of my own heavily so here are some key things. Classes are separated by skill except for those under nine years old. The classes specified for age is usually just "Ballet 3-7".  
> But the more skilled classes are separated by skill. So it would be "Hip Hop I, Jazz II, Ballet III" and so on up until V. Classes ranked under IV and V would be the skill level equivalent to Company. Company is the group of dancers that take their choreos to competitions.

The air was colder in New York; that was the first thing Malik noticed. It also was very loud. He could barely hear himself think as he walked through throngs of people. Everyone was dressed so differently, showing wide varieties of personalities and job positions. Malik's eyes wandered over the amount of people in front of him, most of them being in suits. A lot of people were on cell phones.   
Shaking his head, Malik focused on the directions he was given to get to the potential roommate he was going to meet. Normally, the Arabian wouldn't need a roommate, but being between jobs was hard and he only had so much money saved up that he would prefer not spending on hotel rooms. He walked into the small cafe, stuffing his phone into his pocket and looking around for the man. By the corner, there was a man sipping a coffee with a sign propped against the window with Malik Al-Sayf written in sloppy all capitals handwriting.   
Malik walked over to him and sat down, shoving his hands in his pockets to keep them warm. The guy looked up at him. 

"Hey. Are you Malik?"

"Yeah. And you're Desmond, right? Nice to meet you." He offered the man a slight smile. Desmond nodded, sipping his coffee. 

"So, I know this is weird, but you're not into any weird things or drugs right?"

"No. I don't do drugs and I'm not into any sexual fetishes, but I am gay." Malik waved for a waitress to get a hot Chai tea and a club sandwich. 

"That's right, you said that over the phone I think. That's okay, I know quite a few gay people," Desmond said, scratching his head. The Arabian nodded.

"So do you have a job or no?"

"No, I just moved to New York a week ago and I've applied to a few places, but I've only gotten a call back from the studio on fifth." Desmond's brows furrowed in confusion.  
"A dance studio. I instructed dance classes in Phoenix." 

"Arizona?" 

"Yeah. I grew up there," Malik said offhandedly as he accepted the tea from the waitress with a nod. He took a sip and frowned at the sweetness of it. 

"Must be different with the temperature differences right? It's like 90 degrees in the summer isn't it?" Desmond asked, leaning against the table. 

"Actually, it ranges in the hundreds more often than not." Desmond gave him a holy shit look. Malik nodded. 

"No wonder you're so dark," Desmond chuckled. 

"Well yes and no. I am naturally dark skinned, but this is the darkest I've been I think."

"Well I hope you enjoy it here. We don't get up to a hundred, but we do get somewhere in the eighties maybe." Malik raised a brow at him. "After this, we'll head over to the apartment so you can take a look at it."  
The Arabian nodded and downed some more of the tea. He accepted his sandwich a little while later, chatting idly with the man across from him as he ate. The sandwich was decent, but not better than ones he'd already had. A sandwich was a sandwich to him. After he ate, he and Desmond headed down the street, Malik hugging his jacket to him. They talked about more things, like how Desmond was a bartender and how his younger cousin was a dancer also. 

"I could try to see if the bar I work at has any openings. They might even train you to be a bartender." Malik thanked him gratefully and followed Desmond up the stairs of the apartment complex. 

"My last roommate was such a slob. I hope you're not like that."

"I'm kind of a neat freak."

"Oh good. I try to keep the living room and kitchen as clean as possible." Desmond brought him through the rest of the apartment, which was fairly big and spacious despite the fact that there was pizza boxes all over the place. "So when do you want to move in?"

"I can probably get all my stuff here tonight," Malik said offhandedly as he ran his hand over the surface of the counter. Desmond smiled and nodded. 

"Alright, uh... Let's get started then."   
It didn’t take them long to get all of Malik’s possessions into the room he was moving into. It took longer for the truck with his stuff in it to get to the right place and even longer to get his bedframe and mattress up the stairs than actually moving the boxes in. Eventually, Malik dismissed the truck guy with a fair tip and Desmond, saying how he could handle the rest on his own. Malik sat on the floor of his new room with boxes in front of him as he dug through them.   
Most of them were filled with clothes, but some were filled with books or shoes. Malik prided himself on his intelligence and his seemingly endless smile. As he was folding his clothes, his phone started to ring. He picked up as soon as he found it hidden under a pile of unfolded clothing. 

“Hello?” He held the phone between his ear and his shoulder so he could continue folding. 

“Heeeeeeeeeey. I just got off the phone with mom and she said you moved up here! That’s great! I can’t wait to see you! How was the move? Also, why didn’t you tell me?” Came the barrage of his little brother’s voice. Malik couldn’t help but roll his eyes as he rolled up his sleeves. His black out tattoo was the only one on his forearm, black bubbling up from his wrist. 

“The move was fine. I found a roommate, who’s actually pretty decent. I didn’t tell you because I don’t really want cameras up my ass while I’m moving.” Kadar made a slightly disappointed noise in the back of his throat. 

“Still could’ve told me you were moving up to New York. I’m not sure what you mean by cameras, Malik. I make music.” Malik chuckled slightly, shifting so he was holding the phone now. 

“Good music that people are starting to recognize you now. Are you going to come see me sometime? I haven’t seen you in five months,” The older one stood and walked out of the room to get himself some water from the kitchen. Desmond was on the couch, controler in his hand. 

Kadar caught his attention again as he made a large groaning noise like he was getting up from sitting, “Yeah. I’m pretty busy in the next week or so, but I can come see you sometime soon. Maybe we could go to the beach!”

“It’s way too cold here for me to go to the beach,” Malik replied as he searched for the cups. Desmond looked over at him curiously, pointing out where the cups would be. Malik nodded his thanks as he grabbed a cup and filled it with water from the fridge. He took a sip.

“Not to go swimming… It’s not even spring yet. I meant to like walk around and stuff, so I could show you all the shops and sights!” Kadar sounded way too excited for how tired Malik felt. He blinked slowly as he took a deep breath before downing half the water he had in his glass.

“Right. Whenever you’re free then.”  
“Yessssssss. Alright, you probably have a lot of unpacking to do. I’ll let you go.” The older smiled despite how exhausted he was. His brother always made him feel better no matter what mood he was in. 

“Alright. I’ll text you.” He sat on the couch next to his new roommate. 

“Okay. Love you! Bye.” Malik returned the sentiment before hanging up. Desmond was paying attention to the game he was currently playing.

“Your mom?”

“No, my little brother,” Malik corrected. Desmond nodded and continued to play in silence. Eventually, Malik got up to finish folding his clothes and putting them neatly into his new closet.   
_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

It had been a week since Malik had moved in and the one thing he noticed was that it was actually a lot cleaner in the apartment now that he was living there. He had also landed the job at the studio he had applied for. He was teaching four different classes; a Hip Hop class for seven to eleven year olds, a ballet class for 5 and younger, a jazz class for teens and one company contemporary class. Each class was evenly spaced out and he had some days of the week off.   
He felt proud of himself for being able to get a job in the career choice he wanted. The owner of the studio, Maria Thorpe, was a small woman with curly hair and a pretty smile. She had loved him the moment he had stepped in for the interview.   
Now that he was working, he didn't feel as pressured to find a second job. He wasn't sure he needed it, but Desmond did say the rent here was high. Maybe he should. He would talk to Desmond about that job at the bar he worked at.   
First, he had to get out of bed. He was up early, earlier than normal at least. The Arabian pulled himself up and padded out of his room quietly. 

There was noise. Odd. 

As he made his way to the smallish living room, he saw Desmond was up and there was someone with him. Someone who looked a little familiar, but not by much. Desmond turned to look at him. 

"Hey, Malik. There's hot water on the stove for your tea." The person next to his roommate turned to look at him. Malik and the guy made eye contact before his yellow eyes lit up with recognition. 

"Hey! You're the new teacher!" Malik blinked at him confused, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes. This guy was probably one of the students. "I'm not in your classes, but I was at the welcoming party." Guess not.

"You know, I thought Studio One sounded familiar," Desmond said, watching them. "This is my cousin, Altair."

"Hello. I'm Malik," he said, stepping closer to offer Altair his hand to shake. The boy looked young and rather lean. "What classes do you take?"

"Contemporary three and company Ballet. Though, Maria thinks I should take more classes."

"That's probably a good idea since other classes tend to help a lot when taking Ballet." Altair looked up at him with a curious look. "In the studio I danced at, back home, I was required to take hip hop, contemporary, jazz, ballet if I wanted to be in a company class."   
Altair turned away from him to think about it, or pout (the older really couldn’t tell). Malik turned to make himself a cup of tea and sat at the small dining table. Desmond and his cousin talked a bit more before Malik had to get dressed and leave. As the instructor was about to head out, he turned to look at his roommate.

"Hey, I was wondering if you would put in a good word to your boss about me. I might need a second job." 

"Yeah, sure. I can do that." With that, Malik left, duffle bag in hand. 

His classes were fairly small and he had hour breaks in between each of his classes. All his students were young; all of them ranged from toddlers to twelve year olds. They were relatively easy to teach too. It was noon when he was able to leave, but only after he talked with Maria. 

"So, how do you like instructing the classes?" She asked, smiling and leaning toward him. 

"They're nice. The kids seem to really like me."

She cheered, "I knew it! I knew you would be good with kids! Oh, aren't the babies soooo cute?" Malik raised a brow, scratching at an itch on his arm. 

"Uh... Yeah. Babies are cute." 

"Hmm... I feel like you wouldn't have come talk to me if it wasn't important. Did you want to talk about something?" She said, looking at her painted nails. 

"Yeah. See, I really like this job. I like dancing. I might need to find a second job to help pay rent with my roommate, but I really don’t want a night job, so I was wondering if maybe I could teach a couple more classes.” Maria nodded in understanding, pulling out a rather large binder. She flipped through some pages of it before stopping on his application. “You still have that?” he asked. 

“Of course I do! You dance a lot of different styles. I could give you another teens class, but that would be disregarding all of your talent. I think I should open more classes for you. I think Hip Hop company and Jazz four and company could be taught by you since I’m busier now that there’s more students. Maybe I’ll even make a Dubstep class just for you.” Malik nodded, glancing down at his skills list. Maria nodded to herself before writing something down. “Hip Hop company meets on Wednesdays, Fridays and Saturdays. Jazz four is on Sunday, but company is on Monday. Dubstep can be on Tuesdays.” He nodded again. She wrote down some things before turning to the woman who worked at the desk. She spoke to her quietly before setting up a handwritten sign about the dubstep class.   
Malik smiled at her before she dismissed him to teach his youngest class. There were four little girls all ranging from three to five and one little boy who was four. For the recital the studio put on twice a year, he had picked out a disney song. He helped each of them out with their first position stances, hands on their hips. When they were in position, he slowly pointed on foot out to the side, hands still on his hips.   
The class went by quickly for him, the choreography of it extremely simple that they got it fast enough. He supposed it wasn’t hard for them, but the youngest girl was so little and uncoordinated that she was slow. Malik didn’t mind. She was three after all. She held his hand when they walked out of the studio to where her mother was waiting in the waiting room. Her mother smiled at him. 

“She really likes you,” the woman said. Malik nodded, letting go of the little girl, Abbie, so she could be picked up by her mom. 

“She’s extremely talented for a three year old. She’ll be a great dancer if she continues.” The woman smiled and left with her daughter in her arms. Malik yawned and went behind the counter to grab his bag. He jumped slightly when he was tapped on the shoulder, turning to find Altair grinning at him. 

“Hey. I didn’t think I’d see you. You’re never here when I am,” the younger man said. Malik didn’t realize how short the other was before, but the teacher stood a whole head taller than the ballet dancer. 

“I don’t teach that many classes. Though, I will start soon. Have you taken more classes yet?” He slung his bag over his shoulder. Altair made a face and shook his head. 

“No. I’m serious about Ballet.” Malik made a noise of disappointment. “What?”

“You would be better if you exercise the muscles that Ballet doesn’t,” the teacher said. Altair frowned at him slightly, though he didn’t say anything. 

“What other classes are you going to teach?” he asked instead. Malik pointed to the Dubstep sign. 

“Also Jazz and Hip Hop.” Altair nodded before grabbing a pen and signing his name under it where some other people had signed. Malik watched him for a moment before scratching uncomfortably at the visible tattoo on his other forearm, a magenta and green tribal arrow pointing away from a circle. 

“Alright, cool. I’ll see you around. Dance hard.” Malik made his way to the door, opening it before he was stopped again. 

“Dance hard?” came Altair’s voice from behind him. He turned to give the younger man a slightly annoyed look. 

“Yeah. You know. Give it your all today,” and Malik left as fast as he could without looking like he was trying to get away from the nineteen year old.   
When he went home, Desmond wasn’t home, so he made himself something to eat. After he filled his belly with something vaguely from home (but nowhere near as delicious as his mom could make it), he showered and lied down in bed hoping to sleep off the weird feeling he got from being touched by his roommate’s cousin. As he was dozing off, he hoped he would get to see Kadar soon. Then he was asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't updated this story in a while because of the two other stories I'm writing, but since I love this idea so much I can't stop myself from writing it.

Altair wasn’t sure why it had captured his attention. Maybe it was the fact that there was a camera crew and a bunch of people taking pictures. 

Maybe it was the fact that the cameras were drawn to two dark haired guys (very obviously related) dancing in perfect sync with each other.

Maybe it was the fact that they were dancing in a style he only saw on Internet videos. But what he realized was that one of the two men was a teacher at his studio and his cousin’s roommate. The way his teacher moved was distinct and so very Malik that Altair was surprised he didn’t recognize him first. 

So he turned to his cousin, pointing; “Isn’t that your roommate?” Desmond turned to look at where his younger cousin was pointing and stared very openly along with the rest of the crowd.

"Yeah, but what’s Malik doing with Kadar Al-Sayf?" This confused Altair even more as he watched the way they kicked their opposite legs out and swung back only to catch themselves into a crouch facing the right.

"Well, look at them, Desmond. They’re clearly related."

"You’re joking. Malik’s related to Kadar?" And that was when Altair realized, he really had no idea who the new dance teacher was.  
______________________________________________________________________________

4 hours before…

Altair’s toes were bleeding. Not badly, but enough to come through the white fabric of his pointe shoes. He sat on the wooden floor of one of the studio rooms, pulling bandages around his bleeding toes when the owner came in. Maria was small, even compared to the nineteen year old ballerino. 

“Toes hurt?” She asked, holding a water bottle out for him. He took it gratefully and nodded. She watched him chug some of it before he set the bottle down and stood up. Altair cringed as the pain in his toes fluctuated up his foot. 

“I landed a little too hard,” He said, picking up his stained shoes. He made a mental note to get black ones next time so they wouldn’t stain easily. Maria eyed the shoes for a little before looking back up at him. Altair blinked at her blankly. 

“Your mind has been in other places for the passed few days. What’s up?” She crossed her arms over her chest, eyes narrowing. Altair shrugged, shifting to his other foot.

“My cousin has this new roommate who works here and everytime I see him, he tells me I should take more classes. I’m already the best at Ballet here and I win every competition I go to.” Maria nodded, listening to his complaints without batting an eye. She breathed in deeply before patting his shoulder and moving toward the door leading to the other studio. 

“Malik is a talented teacher. His range is large and his style varies,” she pushed the door open as she spoke, showing Malik teach one of his new classes. Jazz, it looked like. “I think he’s simply trying to get you to try new things. As a teacher, his job is to encourage you.” Altair watched as Malik was going through a section of choreo that they were all learning now. 

Since the class he was teaching was a company class, the students were fast learners and more advanced. Malik however was making relatively easy moves and positions, but had them sped up to a level that would take a lot of practice to get right. 

Altair looked over the class as they copied Malik’s moves, some trying to throw it in with the part before it. Then he turned his golden gaze to the actual teacher. Malik was wearing a long sleeve Nike shirt. His hair was spiked and disheveled from the sweat accumulating on his forehead. His calves were showing, leg hair dark, but not as thick as one might think. Malik’s skin was smooth and dark, like tea. 

The ballet dancer shook his head and turned away, trying to keep himself from admiring the way Malik’s back rippled as he stretched his shoulders out. Altair turned back to watch when the music started up. Malik was about as used to teaching as an elephant was to standing on a chair. The music was fast paced and heavy with bass. The glass door separating the ballet dancer from the class was vibrating with the noise. 

Altair wasn’t sure what the song was called, but he didn’t care. He didn’t really like the way it sounded. It was loud and something that sounded difficult to dance to. However, with the music, Malik’s body was moving in a such way that Altair couldn’t bring himself to stop staring. He was only able to move away when the class started doing their cool down routine. He glanced at the clock and headed to his contemporary class. 

He spent the next three hours in the studio, either in class or teaching the beginner’s ballet class. When he was able to leave, he was surprised to find Desmond sitting in the waiting room. His cousin was staring intently down at his smart phone. Altair stepped up to his older look-a-like, snapping his fingers to get his attention. Desmond looked up from his phone before putting it away and standing. 

“Come on. We’re going to the beach.” His cousin’s eyes followed a pretty blonde from the more advanced ballet classes. Altair turned to look at what he was watching before looking back at him and practically shoving him to the door. 

“Okay, first off, why are we going to the beach? Second, that’s Lucy. She will literally kick your ass if she sees you staring,” Altair said as they walked toward Desmond’s car. 

“So? I like girls that can kick my ass. I just wanted to go today and I thought I’d drag you with me.” Altair gave his cousin a concerned look as they got into the car. “What? Altair, I work in a bar. I like all girls, even the ones who can kick my ass for looking at them wrong.” Altair groaned, putting his head in his hands. 

“I’m related to you…”

“Be proud of that. You have my pretty face,” Desmond grinned at his cousin and drove his way to the beach.  
______________________________________________________________________________  
Presently

Altair was staring at the dancing brothers, at the cameras filming them. Was it coincidence that they happened to be in the same area he and Desmond were in? Probably, but Altair didn’t fall for that. Not even for a minute. He didn’t believe in fate or destiny, but the fact that the new dance instructor at his studio was now showing up everywhere was starting to freak him out. Not only that, but was related to a famous popstar made it even weirder. The popstar was about Altair’s age, maybe a bit younger. At the moment, they were done dancing and ignoring the cameras all together. 

Malik didn’t seem to have an issue with the fact that he would probably get attention by the media simply by showing his face anywhere near his brother and cameras at the same time. Altair frowned at the thought of it. Not only that, but the dance instructor seemed to be teaching his younger brother new moves. One of the cameramen (a round, sweaty looking man) stepped up to them and began to question them.

“This is your brother, Kadar?” the sweaty man asked. Kadar nodded without an ounce of hesitation. 

“Yeah. This is Malik. He’s older than me by six years.” Altair frowned when he realized Malik’s little brother was only a little older than him. Call him childish, but he hated being the youngest (the reason he was so happy Claudia had been born, Desmond had once said). For whatever reason, the fact that he was younger than a teacher’s brother bothered him to no end. 

“How long have you been dancing, Mr. Al-Sayf?” The man asked, this time towards Malik.

“Seventeen years.”

“That’s a long time.”

“Yeah! When I was old enough, Malik would come home from dance then teach me everything he learned. I was only three when he started dancing,” Kadar added, wrapping an arm around his older brother’s shoulders. Malik was a bit taller than Kadar and had a broadness to his shoulders that the younger seemed to be lacking in. Altair blamed the fact that the kid was only twenty, considering he himself was thin (though Desmond said he always would be twiggy, he blamed ballet). 

Altair turned away, grabbing Desmond’s hand and dragging him away from the scene. He spent the rest of the day pouting on the sand as Desmond got his daily dose of sun and sea water in. Altair glared at the water in front of him until his cousin was finished and got up when they were ready to leave. 

“Eventually, you’re going to have to get rid of that irrational fear of water,” Desmond commented, his skin glistening from the sea water still clinging to his skin. The dancer slapped a hand down on his cousin’s burnt shoulder. Desmond let out a surprised yelp of pain before glaring at Altair. “Jeez, what crawled up your ass and died?”

“You mean besides the fact that you dragged me to the beach, knowing I hate water, saw a dance instructor who I’m pretty sure is trying to kill me with dance? You know it could be any one of those things.” Altair scowled, getting in on the passenger side as Desmond set his stuff in the trunk. His cousin rolled his eyes, but drove him home anyway. The ride was quiet besides the music Desmond always had playing, which was surprisingly Kadar Al-Sayf’s music. Altair didn’t bring it up though and neither did Desmond.  
______________________________________________________________________________

Altair was in a bad mood. A week had gone by since he had caught Malik at the beach with his brother. He supposed it was a good idea to keep quiet about it, but Malik hadn’t even confronted the younger dancer about it.  
Altair held tightly on to the balance pole that was up against the mirror in one of the many studio rooms, one leg high up in the air behind him with the other placed firmly under him in fourth position. He took a deep breath, extending his free arm perpendicular to his torso. He was wearing a tight black tank top and long black ballet tights. His feet were bare and cold from the wooden floor while his body shook from the exertion. He wasn’t used to his leg being so far behind him, but Maria had insisted that he keep his flexibility up if he wanted to continue ballet. 

The studio was empty, save for the occasional make up classes and a few parents that were waiting for their kids to be dismissed. Altair had a pounding headache from the song playing in the studio next to the one he was using. He was trying to focus on his breathing, but the bass was so heavy in the song that he felt his heart beating with the vibrating walls. He swung his leg down to stomp angrily when it became too much to bear anymore and walked out to see if they could lower the volume. 

In the studio next to his, Altair saw Malik. The teacher was alone, clearing working on a solo contemporary piece. The ballet dancer stared, mouth agape as he watched the older dancer move to the slow beat of the song. It was then that Altair realized that the song playing, while heavy in bass, was actually quite sad and lonely. 

Malik was in a pair of black shorts that came down mid-thigh and a long sleeve white Nike shirt. The shirt hung loosely on the man’s body. The older dancer brought his leg up to his head, both legs perfectly straight with no sign of shaking. His other foot was planted on the ground before he rose up on to his toes and bent backwards. His knees bent as well, giving Altair a clear view of his handsome face. 

Altair covered his mouth with his hand, eyes following Malik’s every movement after the clear display of pain he was shown. Every move the older man made was fluid and beautiful, yet precise and sharp. When the song slowly came to a close, Malik was hanging his head, hand over his heart and Altair was tearing up a bit. 

That was the moment Malik decided to look up and see the younger man watching him. Altair made a strangled noise in the back of his throat, turning away quickly to walk back to his own studio. He refused to look back as he heard Malik open the door. He refused to look up when he felt Malik’s hand on his bare shoulder. He refused to admit that the spark he felt from their skin touching made his heart leap into his throat and his cheeks burn. 

“What did you think?” Altair snapped his gaze to the older man, having not expected that of all things to be what he would say. 

“It was… very beautiful. You should dance like that more often.” Malik rolled his eyes, a clear look of disdain on his handsome face. 

“I was looking for a critique, not a compliment.” Altair frowned at that.

“There was nothing wrong with it. Your legs were straight and you weren’t shaking at all and you displayed the emotion you were trying to convey very clearly,” Altair said, turning his body to face Malik entirely now. 

“Really? You didn’t think it felt rushed?” Malik asked, crossing his arms. 

“No, your movements were synced precisely with the song. If you’ve been dancing for so long, why aren’t you confident in your pieces? That was worthy of international competition. You probably would have gotten close to getting first place.” 

Malik rolled his eyes again, a scowl forming on his face. Altair raised his eyebrows expectantly. 

“I don’t do competitions.” 

“What?” Altair asked, shocked. 

“They’re stupid and they get annoying. I’ve never liked it. I just want to dance.” Altair stared up at the teacher with wide, surprised eyes. He shook his head to clear his thoughts before he looked away. What should they talk about? He was finally able to speak to Malik alone and here he was, not able to come up with anything to say.

“I saw you at the beach. With your brother.” Malik looked at him with mild surprised (if one could even call it that), before scratching at the fuzz growing in along his jaw. 

“Oh did you?” Altair nodded, glaring down at his feet. 

“He seems like a nice guy.”

“He is,” Malik offhandedly muttered. Before Altair could really say anything else, Malik was grabbing his arm. “Let’s go get something to eat. I’m hungry.” Altair yelped as he was pulled away toward the boys dressing room to gather their things. 

He had absolutely no idea who this new dance instructor was, but he supposed it wouldn’t hurt to get to know him. Who knows? Maybe he could branch out and get interested in the class he actually had with Malik. Altair didn’t find himself minding very much.


End file.
